Resistance Logs
by sage97
Summary: Log entries from my XCOM character as he fights against ADVENT.
1. Chapter 1

XCOM Enemy Unknown, XCOM Enemy Within, and XCOM 2 are all owned by Firaxis. Who I would love to work/intern for, which means I don't own them.

* * *

July 6, 2035

I can't believe I'm doing this. I haven't kept a journal of any kind since, what? High school? College? Doesn't matter. Tell my story he said. Alright. This is not going to be updated regularly. Just when I need to blow off steam. Everything else is in the AARs, after all.

I remember the War. I remember watching the news with anger and helplessness as I saw and read about city after city burning, people being abducted left and right. The military tried to respond, oh did it try. But the results were nothing more than a series of destroyed military bases. The United States military, one of the most powerful and technologically advanced nations in the world, was broken by a few walking tanks.

My gut wrenched when I saw LA burn on the news, thanking God that it was a Saturday and my mother was, relatively, safe at home. I remember the relief I felt when I called home and heard her voice, and the desperation with which I plead to her not to leave the apartment unless absolutely necessary. Thankfully, our landlord was understanding of the whole affair and, with the economy collapsing anyway, allowed his tenants to live rent-free, at least for the duration of the crisis. (Not that anyone would admit to it, but money was becoming more and more worthless by the month. The only thing stopping crime in the suburbs and intact cities was the fact that every law enforcement agency had effectively been turned into a militia.)

But as the War dragged on into its final month, everything had felt routine. No longer did the news, the few surviving news stations anyway, show the horror of alien attacks on cities, or their abduction efforts. They just maintained a list of abducted citizens and a list of cities that were destroyed over the course of the week. It had become... normal. Which was why, on a whim, I took a bus from the university to go to S- - to try out the tabletop RPG night at the comic book store.

It was 9:00 when I left. The streets were empty save for the homeless and the few who had been out late. Gone were the days when people would go out to the city at night. Now, everyone rushed to be home before dark. And failing that, to be home as soon as possible. So, with the streets empty as they were, I decided to walk right on the road on a whim.

It began with a sound. The sound of something, not unlike a water balloon, slamming into a wall at high speeds, mixed with the hiss of ice melting in a hot frying pan. I stared numbly at the sight of concrete _melting_ before my eyes, an ominous green glow surrounding the hole in the movie theater. I don't know how long I stared at it, unable to understand what had just happened. It took another series of bolts striking buildings all around the street for the situation to take. S- - was under attack. And I was right in the middle of it.

* * *

By this point, I was well past the point of panicking. So, as a Californian, my instincts took to the very first disaster scenario they could grasp: earthquakes. To be fair to my subconscious, the situation wasn't too dissimilar with the ground shaking and buildings coming down. And it was the only disaster scenario drilled into my head that actually took. Being in the middle of the street granted me no cover or protection from falling debris, so my body moved to a nearby restaurant, ducking under one of the concrete tables outside.

I don't know how long I laid there, curled up in a ball, my hands protecting my neck. I laid there until I heard sirens, police sirens. I crawled out from under the table and popped my head out in time to see a police cruiser pull up in front of the restaurant. I remember the hope that swelled in my heart as a couple of officers came out, the one closest to me pulling out a shotgun. I remember the tell-tale green glow of a plasma bolt striking the car, the flash causing me to instinctively duck down. That action probably saved my life as the car exploded, scattering shrapnel and burning fuel around the car as the officers' screams echoed through the streets.

To this day I remember smelling burnt pork and, in spite of the situation, craving some barbecued meat. Before I realized in horror that I was smelling men burning. And as I lay under the table again, shivering and desperately trying to keep down my dinner, something hit the side of the table and clattered to the ground next to me. I hazarded a look. There, beaten, burned, yet still seemingly intact, was the shotgun.

* * *

I left it lying there. After all, this wasn't a video game or an action movie. I didn't know the first thing about firearm use... Ok, I knew some because I looked up random things on the internet when I was bored, but that sure as hell didn't mean I could use one. And, when I heard the roar of engines flying overhead, I didn't think I'd need to use it.

Oh, how wrong I was.

What I had heard weren't jet engines like I'd thought. Instead, I watched in horror as flying _torsos with jetpacks_ roared overhead. With that sight burning in my eyes, I lunged for the shotgun and proceeded to attempt to pump a shell into place.

I had only just managed to do so (in a manner I'm certain was _not_ how one is supposed to do so) when one of the torsos flew past my head, the thing's beady little eyes glaring at me in surprise as it jetted past, only to turn and try to slow down. Between it's sharp claws and the sickly green glow the emanated from it's silver rifle, I knew it would... detrimental to my health to allow it a chance to use either. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I shouldered the shotgun. I looked down the sights long enough to see the damn xeno slow to a stop. And I squeezed the trigger.

* * *

My world seemed like it had exploded as I slammed back into the table. Everything spun and blurred. My arm didn't feel quite right. Nor did my head. Then everything came back a little, like coming to your senses after blacking out while drinking. You're not sober, but you're certainly less drunk. My senses came back enough for me to register pain in my shoulder, the stickiness that covered my clothes, and the ringing in my right ear. I blinked to clear up my vision. I saw my arm dislocated. I saw my clothes covered in something I didn't, and still don't, want to think about. And I saw the alien, since it couldn't be anything else, lying on the ground, its arm and part of its head missing.

I'm still not quite sure what it was. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation I found myself in. Whatever it was, I began to laugh. It wasn't joyous or amused. It wasn't the sound of a cackling madman. The only word I can think to describe the sound that came from my mouth is... hollow.

I don't know how long I laid there, laughing. Perhaps a few seconds, perhaps a few minutes. However long it took, it was long enough for me to be lucid enough to feel pain again. And when the laughter died down, I heard something else. A series of rapidly paced clicking. Not unlike the sound of cockroaches running in a metal duct. I knew I didn't want to look at what was making that noise. I knew it was a bad idea. And yet, slowly and painfully, I forced myself onto a bench and sat there, facing the street with my back to the table.

I never liked insects. I especially hated seeing large pictures of insects, which made certain bio classes a bit difficult to sit through. But seeing a trio of overgrown purple bugs who held their sharp forelegs like scythes, well I now had enough nightmare fuel to last me 27 months. Yes, I counted.

As with the torso, I could tell that the bugs would ruin my day. And probably my face, among other vital things I needed. But this time, I was out of options. I couldn't fight. Not with a dislocated arm. I couldn't run, at least not fast enough to get away. And, since they had clearly seen me, given how they were charging at me, I certainly couldn't hide. And so, out of options, I did the only thing my pride would let me do.

I flipped them off.

And with impeccable timing, there was a roar as a rocket streaked down in the midst of the trio of charging insects and exploded. Even half a block away, I could feel the heat and the wind from the blast as I sat there, awed then horrified as the bugs kept coming, on fire and pissed. Then a peal of thunder and a snap hiss preceded the bug in the back growing a new hole in its thorax. A beam of red light lanced down the street, striking the second bug on its head, which caused it to pop like an ant under a magnifying glass. Finally, to cap off the spectacle, a figure dashed over to my bench, taking cover for a second before raising a science fiction prop and firing a laser at the lead bug. And with that, she turned to look at me and she said, "Don't worry, kid. Cavalry's here."

* * *

The details of everything else, the exact words we said beyond that point, have faded over the past 20 years. But I still remember what happened. I remember taking in the brilliant silver armor gleaming in the firelight, the futuristic rifle she held in her arms, and the symbol stamped on the center of the chest plate: an elongated pentagram, an X over a globe, a trio of stars, and the words Vigilo Confido. I remember staring at that symbol, wondering what the words meant, until she snapped her fingers at me and reminded me, in a playful tone, that her eyes were on her head, not her chest. I remember trying to rub my head sheepishly with my right hand before the pain reminded my that my arm was dislocated.

Over everything else, that probably snapped me out of it the most. The soldier took one look at my arm, grabbed it, and popped it back into place before I had even stopped hissing in pain. When it registered, I yelped, biting my tongue in the process. When she asked how I'd managed to dislocate my arm, I simply pointed to the shotgun and the dead floater. She whistled and told me I had balls when someone else ran over and asked what the holdup was.

Like the first soldier, he was also wearing that silver armor and held a laser rifle. Unlike her, he had a small carton with a red cross attached to his hip. When she explained to him what I'd done, he unhooked that carton and waved it over my arm. When I was about to ask him if it was a tricorder, it sprung a needle which he jammed into my shoulder joint. As I felt something soothing come from the needle stuck in my arm, he explained how he was injecting a mix of painkillers and something to help keep my shoulder together long enough for me to get proper treatment.

By this point, the excitement and adrenaline was wearing off so I was dead on my feet. The soldiers told me that they'd set up an evac point near the train station down the street and that I'd be safe there. I nodded and got myself up on my feet. And before I left, I turned to them and said, "Thank you."

* * *

I'd caught my second wind at some point while I was jogging down towards the station. But even with it, I was crapping out. Thankfully, the only bit of excitement before I'd reached the station was my short encounter with a tall Argentinian, outfitted in silver armor with a rocket launcher strapped to his back and a machine gun in his arms. Realizing that this was the man who probably sent that rocket my way and too out of breath to give a proper thanks, I gave as much of a bow as I could while running. He seemed to understand, though, as he gave me a quick nod and a small smile before continuing to lumber forward.

It was only when I'd reached the train station that I'd realized something important: I was never told where in the station the evac zone was. Of course, it soon became apparent why that was. After all, it's a bit difficult to ignore the dropship parked right in the middle of the parking lot. As I trudged on board, the first thing I noticed was the smell. If what I smelled was fear, then fear smelled a lot like piss, sweat, and soiled pants. Not that I could say anything, having been covered in god-knows-what from the alien who died next to me. I didn't notice any other details from my fellow rescuees. I didn't care. The only detail I'd bothered to note was how many there were: eight. I was the ninth person to be rescued.

A few more people trickled in as the minutes wore on, but I was too tired to care. I just sat in my seat until a soldier arrived. I didn't recognize him. Clad in that iconic silver armor and a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, he walked over to the cockpit. The next words he said answered the question that was rising in my throat.

"I need 3 bodybags."

* * *

The ride over to the university was silent. Noone spoke a word. Too tired, too shocked, too pissed. Take your pick. We landed on the soccer fields next to the RecCen, where civil and college officials, paramedics, and more were waiting for us. A CSO dragged me from person to person, making sure that I wasn't about to fall apart or drop dead. When I was cleared to get back to my dorm, the CSO escorted me back to my room, dropping by the bus stop along the way to pick up my bike.

Thankfully, the dorm was quiet. My RA would have words with me in the morning, but at that time, I was effectively alone. I stripped off my clothes, dumping them into a plastic bag, grabbed my toiletries, and took a shower before collapsing into my bed.

This whole time, I wanted to throw up and cry, to scream and rage. I couldn't do any of that. So instead, I shut down. Thankfully, it was June, the quarter was over, and I was supposed to go home the next day.

* * *

Everyone was worried about me that summer. I did nothing more than eat, use the restroom, shower, wander around the apartment, stare, and sleep. The only emotion I displayed was terror as I awoke, screaming from my nightmares. After waking up the neighbors enough times for them to lodge complaints, I learned to wake silently. My grandmother would often find me sitting at the kitchen table at 1 in the morning, staring blankly at the TV.

Two of my friends, H- and J-, came over often, doing what they could to help. Aunts and uncles dragged me off to see psychologists and therapists to no avail. For three months, the only thing that managed to get through to me was the news that the the world as a whole had surrendered to the aliens, and that a new world government was being built. Oh, that news pissed me off, but I did nothing besides glaring at the TV. Though that did get my grandmother excited. It had been the first sign of emotion I had shown since I got home.

It wouldn't last. Before the hour was up, I had slipped back into depression. But it was enough to give my family hope.

* * *

It took the news of my friend, D-, being listed as MIA to snap me out of it. His mother had called, then visited, with an invitation to the funeral, and possibly to deliver a eulogy.

"I won't." Those were the first words I had said in three months. My grandmother was elated. My mother torn trying to figure out how to respond appropriately. And D-'s mother, she was pissed. As she opened her mouth, I cut her off. "I will neither attend the funeral, nor deliver the eulogy for someone who isn't dead. Schrödinger's cat. You do not have his body. Nor has his death been reported. So, as far as I'm concerned, he isn't dead."

She was not pleased with my response. She accused me of not caring about, of not really being his friend, of not supporting him. I replied that she had no faith in him, that so long as no one could confirm that he wasn't dead, there were a chance, no matter how slim. The argument was short, but it was heated. In the end, she left, upset and on the verge of tears. And me, I felt like shit. Oh, I was pissed that she had given up on him so easily, but logically it made sense. And it could not have been easy for her to accept that. Nevertheless, I never mourned him. I just waited and prayed. I'd wait for over twenty years, but I found him, in the end. But that's a story for another time.

* * *

By February, the ADVENT government was in place. Over the course of a few hours, every sovereign nation in the world turned over control to the new administration. Anti-government groups worldwide, from small domestic terrorist cells to massive international organizations, were either wiped out or sent into hiding. Any hint of resistance at all was quickly crushed with overwhelming force.

After brandishing their big stick, the new administration began to show the carrot, starting with the region that held their new capital: the Indian subcontinent. The region having fallen early during the war, the aliens, and thus ADVENT, had been there the longest. It had been their beachhead, the first place the aliens turned up en-force, and it showed. News reports during the war had shown India to be a war-torn hellscape, covered in craters, plasma scars, and the dead. In less than a year, ADVENT turned India from a place that the world would have considered salted earth to a vision of paradise for most modern people. Gleaming cityscapes where poverty was a faint dream, something that happened to other people in other places. Everyone had a home. Everyone had something to eat. Everyone had access to healthcare that surpassed the imagination of medical professionals. And everyone could afford an education.

Those who weren't cowed by the stick were won over by the carrot. ADVENT was nothing if not efficient in building their gilded cages, and it would be less than a year until I found myself moving into an apartment in one of those city centers.

How'd I escape? I'll save that for another entry. As for this one, I'll leave it off here. It was good to get this off my chest. Maybe I'll keep this up, see how this goes.

End log entry.

* * *

Author's Note:

Yes, a second SI, although this is really a self-insert in the loosest of terms. Mostly because the viewpoint character has ~20 years on me, and he went through shit I never did. In other word, we only share our names, and the first ~19 odd years of our lives.

As for the update schedule, I've had this for a couple months now, and, as you've seen with my other works, I update like twice a year at best. I'm trying to work on that, but things get busy during the school year so... yeah. Updates are going to be sporadic at best, this one moreso than my other two.


	2. Chapter 2: Joining the Resistance Part 1

August 8, 2035

Whelp, the shit officially hit the fan yesterday. Namely, we were shot down in South America and D- almost got himself killed spotting for Black Widow and he managed to kill the Berserker Queen. And was surrounded in the process. God only knows how the hell he managed to get himself back with relatively few injuries (he was covered in plasma burns, which isn't surprising considering how he was completely _fucking_ surrounded) while lugging that obscenely large corpse. Guess the aliens were about as surprised as he was. While me, I had to look on in terror through Ardent Mercy's scope while my friend, who hadn't gotten the notice of the aliens, suddenly threw an axe at the Queen before headshotting her with his shardgun. A _shardgun_. We were rolling out with lasers and and our rangers and grenadiers were still using mag weapons.

While he was off playing Metal Gear amongst the aliens, I had gotten the rest of the Strike Team to position themselves along the ridge. We couldn't risk tipping them off to D-, so everyone stayed on overwatch until he performed his stupid hare-brained scheme. Even then, the only ones who could provide any sort of cover fire were our grenadiers and sharpshooter. Yes, sharpshooter. Singular. Widow was the only sniper who was good enough to help defend the Avenger. *sigh* Bradford said that the Commander was planning on fixing that soon. Apparently, Resistance HQ managed to get ahold of a sharpshooter they want to send our way. A real gunslinger, apparently, and a decent shot with a rifle, so we'll be picking her up soon.

I'm getting off track here. Where was I? Sharpshooter, only sharpshooter, covering fire, right. So our grenadiers were raining acid and fire down on the aliens while Widow picked off who she could. Somehow, that crazy bastard managed to make his way back, but he had an Andromedon on his tail, because of course he did. So, I caught its attention. I think a laser to the faceplate would do that. But, in case that wasn't enough, Stryker blasting it with electricity certainly did the trick. By this point, we were getting pushed back. We had blown through our grenades, and our ammo was running low. Or battery packs, which serve about the same purpose. Our two turrets were working overtime and everyone else had made it back to the Avenger's ramp, including D- and his overgrown prize. So, with everyone able to provide me some cover, I ran for it.

I gave the order to lift off as I vaulted over the barricade on the ramp (which I will not question the necessity of ever again). Of course, we had to stay on the damn thing until we were certain that ADVENT forces couldn't do anything crazy like jump on. Which is exactly what happened. An ADVENT officer actually managed to jump up, grab ahold of the ramp, and pull himself on. He looked so proud too, lying there with his back to the barricade along with the rest of us. That look that just screamed 'oh shit' as I pointed Ardent Mercy at his face... That was the high point of my day.

* * *

After that, I spent the rest of the day yelling at people. At Shen for not finishing the upgrades to our armory, at Bradford for his shitty driving that got us in the mess in the first place, at D- for pulling off that moronic stunt in the first place, I even yelled at the Commander for not recruiting as much as he should have. Our numbers were the lowest they'd ever been. We've had nothing but victories since the Commander was brought back and casualties were minimal. But even a single operative lost... we can't afford that. Not as we are right now.

After I had spent the entire afternoon and evening yelling at the senior staff bar Tygan and cursing Valhen's name for creating those damn royals, the Commander calmly asked that I report to medical for a psych eval. And he may have implied that I would be removed from Strike One if I did not comply. So, I went. Turns out, I have PTSD. What a fucking surprise. Between the alien terror attack I survived, watching my best friends disappear one after another, the clusterfuck where I joined XCOM, and losing my commanding officers until I became the head of Strike One, I wonder how this could have happened?

It's so hard to convey sarcasm in a written medium. At any rate, now that we're picking up that sharpshooter, the Commander's thinking about reforming Strike Two. Yes, we've taken enough casualties that we were operating with only one Strike Team. But, we have been winning victory after victory so... yeah. Of course, after this little incident, I've been benched, so Widow's going to be babysitting the kiddies.

I don't know how to feel about that. On one hand, yey. A chance for me to catch up on the paperwork (yes, even a resistance movement with few resources and fewer friends has a bureaucracy) and not get shot at. On the flip side, I won't be there to make sure everyone gets back alive. Fuck it. All I can do is hope for the best.

Fuck.

That doesn't make me feel better.

And yeah. I probably shouldn't have yelled at the senior staff like that. I'll make the apology rounds later when I've calmed down.

...

I'm bored. Not much to do, and I've been taken off the active duty roster. Actually, most of Strike One's earned some down time after this, exception being Widow.

Well, shrink said that I should "write about my trauma" to "find meaning", whatever that means. And, I've already written about my first encounter with the aliens. Maybe I should write about how I joined XCOM.

* * *

It had been 15 years since I moved into New Los Angeles in 2016. While I hadn't finished my degree, I did have my I.T. certifications so it wasn't long before I had a job to support myself and my family. And I admit, it was... not all that bad. I had a decent job and, eventually, went back to school to get my CS degree. 엄마 didn't have to work anymore and could paint, read, and pursue whatever hobby struck her interest. And we had healthcare, treatments for everything imaginable. So, yeah. 엄마 was happy.

할머니 was less pleased.

She had grown up under the Japanese when they occupied Korea, and she saw far too many parallels between the Japs and ADVENT. Too many soldiers in the street, too many disappearances of friends and neighbors.

Honestly, after what I'd seen in S- -, I couldn't blame her for her apprehension. And if said apprehension kept her in our apartment, where it was safe, so much the better.

Still, her distaste for ADVENT often put her at odds with 엄마. God, did they argue. By no means was 엄마 happy about the privacy violations and the apparent police state, but she was willing to live with it in the name of "security". Not to mention that she bought the propaganda on ANN hook, line, and sinker. Fucking lemming.

Still, she was loyal to family before the state. And even she didn't trust ADVENT in its entirety, not after I was almost killed in S- -, not to mention the horrors televised during the War.

As for me, I stayed quietly in the middle. I sure as hell wasn't a fan of ADVENT. Yes, I appreciated their healthcare. Yes, I enjoyed the fact that their gene therapy cured my allergies, fixed my eyesight, and improved my health in numerous other small ways. Yes, I loved the fact that I owned my own apartment, had a degree, and a well paying job that I could support a family of three with, and have money left over.

But I would never forget that day. I won't forget the people they killed, the families they destroyed. I chafed under their authority, and _hated_ that chip they put in my skull. I can't believe I thought it was worth it at the time. Fucking idiot.

Of course, being in the middle meant I'd argue with both sides. 엄마 was unhappy that I didn't appreciate and support ADVENT more. 할머니 wanted me to leave and join the Resistance, damn the consequences. Everyone in XCOM would have loved her. D- and I miss her. So damn much.

Fuck.

...

... ...

... ... ...

Anyway, that's how we'd argue. I refused to support ADVENT any more than strictly required, but I also refused to push too hard. "Choose a side," they'd both say. Tch. Were it so easy. Sell my soul, or risk my family. Hell of a choice.

Was it that easy?

No. No it wasn't, not at the time. Not when fighting meant that I'd jeopardize both my mother and my grandmother.

Family came first.

Always.

* * *

할머니 passed away in 2022 at the ripe old age of 101. She'd lived through two centuries, two millennia, two World Wars, and two occupations. She was living history is so many ways. And one day, she was just gone. It shouldn't have surprised me. She'd been visibly slowing down over the past ten years, moreso since ADVENT came to power. But she'd always seemed so strong, so lively. I wouldn't have been surprised if she lived forever.

The funeral was a small private affair. Her ashes were, are kept in a small shrine in the old apartment. I moved out soon afterwards. Bought a second apartment. Say what you will, but ADVENT paid well, although I didn't know I was working for them at the time. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

엄마 still lives at the old apartment, tending to 할머니's remains and cultivating her hobbies. I send her half of my paycheck every month, more than enough to pay for her necessities and her hobbies, and I visited thrice a year: on her birthday, on the anniversary of 할머니's death, and on Christmas. I sent her a Mother's Day card every year.

Yeah. I had a decent job to be able to pay for that, all things considered.

* * *

I worked for Adam Venture Pharmaceuticals as a cyber-security specialist. Big company, responsible for a lot of the gene therapy clinics. Work wasn't all that hard; very few people were dumb enough or bored enough to try hacking the place. Certainly left me enough time to play video games and work out on my off time. Paid enough for me to buy two apartments in a few years and support two people. And let me have an ADVENT burger after work each week.

Yeah, say what you will about ADVENT, but damn, they know how to make a good burger. Perfectly juicy and beefy patty that isn't too dry, but won't fall apart because of the grease. The cheese is just so creamy and ever so slightly melted which gives it that nice, gooey consistency. And the pickles and that sauce- mmhmm! All within two fluffy pillows of toasted love.

Oooh. And those fries, can't forget the fries. Salted to taste and crispy, not a single floppy fry in the carton. Not to mention the special black truffle fries that they'd have every so often. And the in-house root beer...

What was I talking about again?

Right, work. Not that exciting, not that hard, just challenging and interesting enough to keep me working there. And I still had the time to meet with J- and H- on the weekends to shoot the shit and play RPGs... At least, until...

* * *

J- went missing first. God, I freaked out when I found out. He went into one of the gene clinics at my suggestion, get a few things fixed. Then, poof. Nothing.

I searched for months. Called every favor, pulled every string I could. Hell, I even had a few people working at ADVENT Civil Patrol looking.

Nothing.

I lost one of my best friends, my oldest friend, and I didn't know who did it, or why.

Of course, knowing what I do now, I know what happened to him. And I pray that he's still alive, faint hope that it is.

I'll never forgive myself if he died because of me.

* * *

That incident, though, it changed me. I clung closer to H-. She'd finished her archaeology degree before I'd finished my bachelor's but she had trouble finding a job. ADVENT had little interest in the social sciences, and preserving the "Old World" wasn't something the Elders were all that keen on.

Still, it was easier to keep a large group of academics quiet when they're employed, so eventually, they were given meaningless academic positions. Everyone involved knew it was effectively a bribe to keep them quiet, but it was the best option they had.

Unlike me, H- wasn't all that happy with her ADVENT provided job. Like I said, the academic positions were meaningless with little research of substance being done. It was effectively a pension with a title. Add on the fact that ADVENT was systematically trying to wipe out our history and culture, and, well... she was not happy. But I was glad for it. An academic position meant she was safe in the city centers. Safe with me.

Unless she was involved with an expedition. One thing ADVENT had a vested interest in were artifacts of the War, regardless of which side the artifacts came from. So, every few months, a bunch of archaeologists were assigned to look for these artifacts. And if they disappeared... so much the better for ADVENT.

I hated it when she'd leave on those. Course, I'd never stop her from leaving. Working on those expeditions rarely failed to make her happy. But I'd always worry, couldn't really sleep well until she returned. I always made her promise that she'd come back. Hell, I even hired the few all-human private security companies around for the expeditions she was on to make sure she'd keep her promise. Of course, all the times she kept that promise didn't matter if she broke it once.

And in 2031, she broke her promise. 엄마 died two years later. Even the best healthcare couldn't fix two decades of near continuous stress.

Fuck this. I'm getting hammered at the bars.

After apologizing to the senior staff.

End Log.

* * *

엄마 - Mom

할머니 - Grandma

In case you were wondering, my SI was a Specialist. Stryker is what he named his Gremlin.

Also, ADam VENTure, gettit? Eh? I'll stop.


End file.
